Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

While we’d only found out about Pete’s visit last week, my mother had been planning her visit down to Chicago since I’d mentioned Rhion’s name back at Thanksgiving. To say they were shocked that I was dating my fiery Butterfly would have been a vast understatement. They’d lived through those first few months after the fire with me and knew firsthand how badly that night had affected me—how much she had affected me. The one time I’d had lunch with my dad, he’d spent two full hours asking if I was sure she was the same woman.

My parents only lived a few hours outside the city, so it had taken a lot of effort to keep them away as long as I had. But the last thing I’d needed was my mom bursting into tears the second she saw Rhion’s scars. And she would have. She still cried every time she saw mine. My mom was insane, and if I stopped to think about it, she was probably the reason I’d fallen so fast and so hard for Rhion. My affection for crazy women had been born and bred into me.

“Yeah, babe,” I called back to Rhion as I set the chairs down next to the table.

She came strutting down the hall in a red-and-silver ball gown. It fit her figure like a glove, hugging her every curve, but the long sleeves and the high neckline were what caught my attention. Never—not once—had I seen Rhion in anything other than low-cut, short-sleeve, or sleeveless shirts. She’d layer up with jackets when we went out, but at the base of it all was always a tiny top. When I’d asked her about it on a particularly cold evening, she’d told me that she’d lived in skintight compression garments for over a year. After that, she’d vowed never to put on another long-sleeve shirt for the rest of her life.

While I’d hated that she’d gone through that, I was so fucking proud of her. Rhion was scared of a lot of things. But she was also the bravest woman I’d ever met. Effortlessly so.

“What do you think of this dress?” she asked, doing a spin.

I tilted my head as I walked in her direction. “Is it Coronation Day already?”

“Hilarious,” she deadpanned. “Pete’s going to want to take us out to some ostentatious restaurant for dinner. I want to look the part.”

I placed my hands on my hips and gave her a squeeze. “Butterfly, people refer to you as the Park family heiress. You are the part.”

“No. My shoes are the part.” She waggled her eyebrows and lifted her dress to reveal a pair of sexy heels encrusted in silver stones. “Otherwise, I’m just a simple girl with impeccable taste.”

“If those are diamonds, it’s gonna make me giving you an engagement ring one day seriously uneventful,” I said before kissing her on her forehead.

She laughed and patted my chest. “They’re just crystals.”

“Of course they are. Anyway.” I smacked her on the ass. “I hate that dress. Go change.”

Her mouth fell open. “What? Why?” She smoothed the front down and then uncomfortably shifted her shoulders, making it clear she hated the damn dress too.

“Hey, man,” Devon interrupted. “We’re going to duck out before she castrates you.”

I kept my eyes on Rhion as I called out, “Sounds good. Thanks for the help.”

After a muttered, “No problem,” and “Good luck,” the door closed behind them.

Rhion launched in. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. I just hate it. It’s got sleeves.” I drifted my fingers over the top of her breasts. “And I can’t see these.”

She frowned and turned away, talking over her shoulder as she headed to our bedroom, “It’s called being classy, Jude.”

I followed her. “It’s called hiding, Rhion. But what I’m trying to figure out is why you’re starting now.”

She scoffed. “I’m not hiding anything. It’s cold out and it’s a nice dress.” Pulling her hair over her shoulder, she backed up to me and asked, “Help me out of this?”

“Gladly.” I kissed the curve of her neck as I slowly pulled the zipper down, stopping halfway to whisper in her ear. “But, first, tell me why you’re covering your scars for Pete. And don’t bullshit me, Butterfly. It never ends well for you.”

She didn’t reply, so I patiently waited by trailing kisses up and down her neck. It wasn’t exactly torture for me.

“He stares at them,” she finally whispered so softly that it was barely audible.

I froze but kept my lips pressed to her skin.

“I think my scars bother him. Ya know. He was really upset after—”

“Fuck him,” I ground out, righting myself and turning her in my arms.

“Honey, my dad would have been the same way,” she cajoled. “My burns are a constant reminder that I was hurt and there was nothing he could do to fix it.”

I barked a humorless laugh. “Trust me, Rhion. I understand that more than anyone else. But I swear to God—other people don’t get to shame you for surviving a horrific event. He wants to stare? Let him.”

She caught me by the back of my neck, sliding her hand over the ridges under my hair. “Hello, pot. You’re black.”

While I still wasn’t eager to have her touch my scars, I never stopped her. It burned, a sizzling that radiated over my entire body, but in a lot of ways, I thought I deserved that.

“Mine are different and you know it.”

“I don’t know that,” she lied quietly.

Though it was only a lie to me. Rhion believed that my burns were just as beautiful as hers. I disagreed wholeheartedly.

Mine were a reminder of failure.

And hers were a display of survival.

Hers were soft, barely visible beneath the brightly colored ink she’d used to decorate them—not cover them the way I’d done with my hair.

Mine were hard. Ugly. And downright offensive. Exactly like the night I’d acquired them.

As strange as it may sound, if they had been on my face, I would have worn them with pride. I would have accepted her designation of the title “hero.” I would have looked myself in the mirror every day knowing I’d earned them in the most honorable way possible—saving her.

Especially now that I knew what an incredible person she was.

A life I almost allowed to be snuffed out.

It some ways, the guilt and regret became heavier after I’d fallen in love with her.

At least, when she’d been a stranger, leaving her to burn in those flames had only been a notch on my conscience.

But now that she was mine. The woman I had every intention of spending a lifetime with. The woman I’d almost lost before I’d ever gotten her. It was a notch on my entire soul.

“You have to let it go, Jude,” she whispered.

I closed my eyes and allowed her fingerprints to brand me. “How did this become about me?”

“It’s always been about you. You saved me a lot of years ago. Maybe it’s my turn now.”

I laughed sadly. “I don’t need saving, Butterfly.”

“I disagree.” She suddenly disappeared.

When I opened my eyes, she was walking to her vanity.

“Sit down.” She signaled to the small stool.

I narrowed my eyes. “I need to go get the rest of my stuff out of Alex’s truck before you do my makeup.”

She glared. “Shut up and sit down, Jude.”

I chuckled and followed her direction.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered.

Humoring her, I sucked in deep breath and scrubbed my hands over my jeans as I allowed my lids to fall.

She began brushing my hair in rhythmic strokes. Dragging the brush through before following it down with her hand. While I hated the long hair something fierce, the way it felt when she toyed with it definitely had its merits.